St Douche Bites The Dust
by ThinksInWords
Summary: A song is no revenge for an egging and a broken heart. So the wrath of Puck is upon Jesse St. Junk and the rest of Vocal Adrenaline. Post-Funk Puckleberry.


AN: My first venture into Puckleberry writing. Pretty short, but hopefully there's more to come. Thank sassy_26 for telling me to post this =P

Disclaimer: I am not Ryan Murphy. I'm not Fox. Ergo, don't own Glee.

June 1, 2010 3:27 AM

If anyone – say, a certain idiot teacher – thought that this little funk routine meant he was done with St. Douche, they were wrong.

This was only the beginning.

He might have said: "See you punks at Regionals," but that was not going to be the first time he'd see them. They wouldn't see him before that, but he was damn well going to make sure that St. Moron would feel the wrath of Puck. He wasn't allowed to use the guns of Puckerone – getting expelled the week before Regionals would hurt Rachel even more than the egging – but that didn't mean he was out of the game completely.

Vocal Adrenaline and St. Head Honcho were going down.

Hard. And fast. Painfully hard. And painfully fast.

But that would be starting in a couple of hours. Hopefully. After he'd finished with the pamphlets and posters. The entirety of Lima, or just all of McKinley would be in on this without even knowing. Maybe he could even post it online.

Artie would totally help him. The guy was pretty badass underneath the suspenders.

Even Kurt would be willing to help.

Mr. Schue should have been all over this. They were showing club unity at last, after those dumb assignments they'd been subjected to over the year. He'd finally reached his stupid goal and now he was going to back out? Wuss.

They were a team. They had to stand up for each other. If only to everyone else but each other. They treated each other like crap, but God forbid someone else try that.

Rachel was part of the team. She didn't deserve shit like this.

Sure, he'd thrown slushies at her daily. But that didn't toy with the vegan shit she was into – that stuff was disgusting, seriously. Throwing eggs on her, a gang egging, that shit was just not cool. That shit was just wrong. And he'd nail them for it.

Her freaking mom probably made them do it, or didn't stop them or anything. The woman was a total MILF, but treating her daughter like this was just seriously fucked up.

Maybe she was next.

Yeah, after he was done with the Jesse kid, he'd get some mild revenge on the MILF. A kind of revenge that did not include bondage. Or would it?

He could leave her like that somewhere. File that for later.

Right now, posters. All around town.

Some of his best work. Really.

And it was too easy to copy and paste a picture of Jesse – from the way too expensive-looking website the Carmel club had – and write some things on them.

Also, copying Rachel's phone contacts? Like taking candy from a baby. She should not leave her phone on the piano while she goes to clean up. Oh well, he should be thanking her. It makes the choice of pranks so much more fun.

This shit was his kind of thing.

And Finn's too. Finn would want in on the next one, he just knew it. And he was sorta cool with that. With the tire slashing, the working, the Funky Bunching, they were almost buddies again. And he was no wuss, but that was kinda alright.

Even a badass needed his best friend.

'Cause this whole pregnancy father business? Pretty big deal. Intimidating.

Still not the real point, but hey, the flyers/posters/pamphlets were all done. He could go back to bed now, catch some zees before everything went down.

Sleep sounded nice.

June 1, 2010 8:03 AM

School. And the flyers were still there.

And the posters, all over the school. With Jesse's phone number plastered all over them, and advertizing his "charms". It was pretty much an escort ad in various bright colors, and the douche would no doubt be swamped with calls.

From anyone and everyone. Grannies to teenage girls. Begging for dates and serenades and moonlit pick nicks or dancing lessons. Or the dirtier stuff.

Oh yeah, he was a total BAMF. And Jesse? Total douche nozzle.

"It was you," Berry, holding a flyer in her hand.

Dang, those legs! Had they gotten longer since yesterday? Looked that way.

"Damn right it was me," he didn't bother to deny.

It was badass. It was cool. It hurt her ex-boyfriend. Figured she wasn't going to get all huffy about it and demand he'd tear everything down. That'd be stupid.

"I want in," a manipulative smile on her face.

Dude, that just made her even hotter! Rachel Berry was a fucking badass! Why didn't he remember that from their dating? The whole playing him into serenading her was pretty damn smart. And it totally got him shorter skirts in return. Score!

"You might recall that I was the person who got Sandy Ryerson fired from this school," still that same smile. "I am perfectly willing to bend some rules to make sure that I achieve the goals that I have set out for myself. Or to make sure Jesse does not achieve his. His actions in all of this have been completely deplorable."

Quick summary: she was the badass who got the groper fired. She's badass and she now really hates Jesse. And she was hot.

Yeah, that last part was completely necessary.

"How many phone calls do you think Jesse has received today," she asked him.

"Several hundreds," he shrugged his shoulders. "Gave several to Nana. The single women at the home would love a young stud like that."

He winked devilishly and Berry smiled. He was the MAN!

"Thank you for defending me in your own way, Noah," the girl was all smiles.

"No problem, Berry," a leer at her legs and other – assets – was necessary.

He was having a commando day too.

June 1, 2010 3: 38 PM

The Glee club was so in on this.

"I put it on every site I could think of," Artie held up his hand for a high five.

Of course he slapped the hand. The guy was an evil genius in a wheelchair. Pinky and the Brain could not beat that. Seriously.

And yeah, Brain was a BAMF. Damn straight.

"Is this the guy from the ads," Brittany's voice. "Because you're like the only person in Lima I haven't made out with. A perfect record is important to me."

Was that Brit's version of a pickup line? He'd heard her use it before. On freaking Kurt!

"Why are you text typing," Brit again. "I don't speak beep."

Nobody knew how that girl got herself dressed in the morning. He wouldn't be surprised if she had some kind of sticky note reminding herself to breathe or go to the bathroom.

"Brit, I think he hung up," Satana – not a typo – explained.

Really, the girl was the spawn of Satan. She rejected his hotness and then turned both ways and did both Finn and Brittany – not at the same time. She wouldn't even let him watch the girl on girl stuff. Which was a crying shame.

"What's going on guys," Mr. Schue walked in, smiling happily.

Did Pillsbury put out or something? The guy was annoying like this. He was actually hoping the guidance counselor put out, 'cause if that wasn't it, it was another stupid assignment to keep them from practicing their Regionals songs.

Why the distractions? Didn't he want them to win?

"Nothing," Artie was making it too obvious.

Artie was a mastermind in everything but the face to face lying.

"Really, Mr. Schue," Berry could lie. "Nothing's going on."

It wasn't as if the teacher could do anything to stop him – them. He made very sure nothing could be connected to McKinley, so they couldn't expel him for being a man (again). Figgins really did shit-all for anyone who was poor and/or not a Jock or a Cheeri-Ho. But that was all going to change.

He was the Puckinator, the Punisher, the Avenger, the Dark Knight.

Wicked cool stuff, almost like the comic books he used to read with Finn before they became cool and graphic novels weren't up to par.

"I have an assignment," Mr. Schue announced.

"Please Mr. Schuester," Berry immediately interrupted him. "Must we? I personally feel it would be much more useful to run though our Regionals numbers again. We must win this competition! We must beat Vocal Adrenaline!"

Another sigh from Mr. S, heard round the world.

The man was a big drama queen. Bigger than Berry. So he was divorced. Big deal. So his wife lied to him. Big deal. Miss P would always be waiting for him. He wasn't a martyr, and he didn't have the right to treat Berry like a bug that kept crawling up with demands for dedication and hard work.

"Second that," he muttered just loud enough. "We only have like a week left. No more new songs all the damn time!"

Of course, he was ignored. What else was new? Anyone on Berry's side was going to get ignored. Schue really needed to learn about this communication thing he preached.

"I believe you'll like this, Puck," Mr. Schue started handing out sheet music.

Alright! Classic rock time! Dean Winchester eat your heart out!

"Kansas," he grinned.

"I am not sure I am familiar with this song," Berry interrupted.

She totally knew this song. She got all weepy when Dean went to hell – hey, he had to teach her the decent things to watch on TV. He'd kill himself before watching High School Musical or that twelve-year-old Justin something.

Also: scary show plus chick equaled touching opportunities. Heck yeah!

"You totally know this song," he protested, grinning.

Or leering. Yeah, probably leering. He was just remembering where she'd let him put his hands to distract her from the creaking noises around the house. Totally worth the ear bleeding songs for her Myspace.

"Maybe I have heard it before," she was trying to kill him with the power of her glare.

She had no right to be all pissy. She was totally checking out his ass and guns and chest when he got all funky and PuckyPuck. It was not Finn she was looking at, no. She was looking at Noah "BAMF" Puckerman. PuckyPuck. The sexy beast.

Equal opportunity and all that feminist stuff.

June 1, 2010 4:59 PM

Rehearsal was done. No Journey. No Regionals stuff.

Well, at least the songs were fun this time. No Madonna or Gaga. Classic rock!

"Noah," Berry was following him to his car.

"Whattup," he turned around, glanced past her legs and then to her face.

Yeah, he was still very much a BAMF. She didn't notice the leering and stuff this time, 'cause she wasn't giving him Rachel Berry's Glare Of Death ™. He'd definitely recognize that one. It was actually slightly terrifying.

"Revenge," just one word.

"St. Douche nozzle," he asked in return.

Her mouth sort of dropped open, and he didn't want to be massage-onistic – what was that word again? – but that was a face he didn't mind seeing.

Stunned silent. Mouth wide open. Oh yeah, he was going to the special hell.

"Noah," she pretended to be pissed.

"St. Jerk," he tried another option. "St. Junk? St. Jerk-off? St. Jackass?"

Honestly, there was a whole list he had yet to try out, out loud at least. His mind had gone over them all. The whole same letter thing worked really well. There was probably a bigger word for that, but he didn't care. He didn't swallow a thesaurus.

"Noah," Berry protested, giggling.

Her cell phone rang, some angry chick song from that prison musical. Her fathers were waiting for her in the parking lot. She had to leave.

Weirdly enough, he didn't want her to leave just yet.

"Hey Berry," he called out as she turned around and walked off. "How much do you know about rick-rolling?"

END CHAPTER

AN: Please let me know what you think.


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